


You Make My Heart Shake

by macwritesthings



Series: What We Both Need [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Derogatory Language, Dom/sub, Dominant Armie, Hair-pulling, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Kneeling, M/M, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Praise Kink, Slow Burn, Sub Drop, Submissive Timothée, universe-compliant rules and language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-04-24 00:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14344275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macwritesthings/pseuds/macwritesthings
Summary: Timothee didn’t ignore his responsibilities. Like the one he was coming up on, the one that meant he had to choose someone to be bonded with or have that person be chosenforhim, the decision that was going to fuck up his entire way of life regardless of who he chose because everything was going to change, and he just wasn’treadyfor that.





	1. But I Can't Turn Away

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so so sO MUCH for all the lovely comments and feedback so far!! I have loved reading each and every one of them and interacting with you all, and the support I've received from this community has been amazing. I adore you.
> 
> Titles this time taken from Troye Sivan's "Wild".

_Timothee_

“You only have five weeks, and this is how you’re spending your time?” Timothee cringed a little under his mother’s tone, hand faltering as he poured coffee into the mug in front of him, feeling himself shrink under her gaze. She didn’t pull the dom card with him often, didn’t _need_ to because, for the most part, he didn’t do stupid, foolish things--he stayed home or went to the cafes, painted, read books, took French to keep his language skills sharp, didn’t just ask her to meet doms he barely knew to talk about possible commissions, didn’t ignore his responsibilities.

Like the one he was coming up on, the one that meant he had to choose someone to be bonded with or have that person be chosen _for_ him, the decision that was going to fuck up his entire way of life regardless of who he chose because everything was going to change, and he just wasn’t _ready_ for that. 

He turned, leaning against the counter and sipping from the mug carefully, eyes on the floor. “I just….I can’t, mom,” he said, finally, shrugging one shoulder. “I can’t focus on that. It’s fucking terrifying. I don’t have enough money to pay the fee to stay unbonded, and I don’t want to just give up all my autonomy to some random person who thinks I’m pretty and wants to keep me like a pet.” His tone grew increasingly bitter as he spoke, hands shaking slightly, causing coffee to slosh over the edge and burn him. He hissed and lifted one hand, licking the drops off and scowling down at the offending mug. 

“I know, _cherie_ ,” his mother answered, moving to the freezer and taking out an ice cube, offering it to Timmy, watching as he put it on his hand over the small splotch of red where he’d been burned. “I know you don’t. I wish it wasn’t like this. I wish your life could be like your sister’s, that you had more freedom, that you weren’t watched like a hawk to make sure you’re not breaking archaic rules that make no sense in this day and age. I wish it could be different for you, in so many ways.” She reached out and cupped his face, brushing her thumb over his cheek gently. “But it isn’t,” she continued, and Timmy looked up, met her gaze. “And we have to face that, even though we don’t like it. Five weeks should be enough time for us to find someone suitable. We have to do this, darling, even though you don’t want to.”

Timmy looked back down at his coffee, nodded silently. Nicole waited a moment, then sighed. “I’ll write a permission slip for you to visit Armie alone at the cafe. If he signs it as well, we can add it to the microchip, it can be on the list of permissions.” Timmy looked up and beamed a smile at her, and she laughed a little, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “My darling boy. It’s going to be alright,” she said, turning to leave the kitchen. 

Timmy sipped coffee again, tossed the ice cube, melting between his fingers, into the sink, and watched her leave. She said it was going to be okay, but there was no part of him that completely believed her. 

\------------

He arrived early on Friday, settling into his usual table, going through the motions of letting the baristas scan his bracelet to see that, yes, he did have permission for caffeine intake, rolling his eyes when their backs were turned, ignoring the table of doms sitting across the cafe, nervously pushing his hair out of his eyes until his order was up and he could sit back at his table. It wasn’t the doms that made him nervous--walking around as an unclaimed sub meant that he got looks from time to time, had people demanding to see his permissions, what he was and wasn’t allowed to do based on what other people thought was best for him. No, he was scared of the fact that in five weeks, that was all going to change, and even the miniscule illusions of freedom that he had because his mother was lenient with him could disappear. He’d gotten so used to it, he didn’t want to lose the small semblance that he was his own person. 

He barely noticed his fingers tapping out an almost frantic rhythm on the table, leg shaking so fast he was shaking the table, until a shadow fell over him and he jerked his head up, startled out of his thoughts. Armie was standing in front of him, and raised both hands up, palms out. 

“Easy there, kid,” he said, tone light, but there was some concern showing through, a slight frown tugging at his mouth. “You doing okay? You look like you’re trying to take flight.”

Timmy forced himself to stop shaking, took a deep breath, shook his head. “Yeah, no, I’m, um. I’m okay. Sorry, I was just. Really into what I was thinking about, that’s all.” He smiled, a little forced but genuine nonetheless, and gestured to the chair across from him. “Didn’t mean to startle you or anything.”

Armie pulled the chair out, shaking his head. “Nah, you didn’t. I just didn’t mean to startle you. You must have _really_ been in that head of yours. Anything you want to talk about?”

_Losing my freedom. The way I can’t stop thinking about you. How I want to get a kneeling cushion from the corner and put it at your feet this instant, how I want to lay my head against your knee and have your fingers tangled in my hair while you work and hold me in place, just letting me exist next to you, making sure that I only do what you tell me to do, the fact that there’s no one I actually want to be bonded to except you because I think you’d treat me like a human being but I know that’s not how you work, what you do, and I don’t know how to even approach the subject so I have five weeks to find someone who’s not completely deplorable to tie myself to for the foreseeable future until I’m allowed to break the bonding contract and find someone else--_

He couldn’t say that, of course. Couldn’t open his mouth in a public place with a person he barely knew, a _dom_ he barely knew, and practically beg to submit to him. That wasn’t how things were done, and even though he hated the rules, he knew that following them was better than not following them, so he just forced the smile back in place, shook his head. “No. Nothing, it’s really nothing. I was just thinking about the piece I’m working on.” Not exactly a lie, so his gut didn’t twist at the deception, because he was thinking of one in particular, one that focused on large hands, deep blue eyes, the quiet press of a suit jacket over broad shoulders. 

Armie kept silent for a moment, then nodded, once, decisively. “Alright. Then did you want to discuss possible commissions?” Timmy nodded, and Armie reached over, touched the back of his hand briefly, the contact making Timmy shiver a little. “It’s good to see you, kid.”

Timmy smiled back, genuine this time, easy. “It’s good to see you, too.”

\------------

Armie had brought spreadsheets. It was adorable, reminiscent of the notebook, one of which he’d also brought. When Timmy had asked, jokingly, if there was ever anything Armie _wasn’t_ one hundred percent prepared for, Armie had given him a look that had literally made him hard in his boxers, a sly smile and a slow gleam lighting his eyes before he replied that he was usually ready for _anything_ and Timmy swore he blacked out for a few seconds, only able to hear the rushing of blood in his ears and the soft sound of himself attempting to _breathe_ , clinging to the edge of his chair so he didn’t slide right off it and land in front of Armie’s lap, rub his face against one thigh and beg for Armie to just _use_ him. These reactions, he thought in a bit of a daze, were getting _very_ out of hand. 

So he focused on the spreadsheets, the notebooks, the soft hum of Armie’s voice until he had his breath, pretended he didn’t catch the way Armie looked over at him when he tipped his head to look at a note scribbled upside-down, unadorned throat exposed in a glint of sunlight from the windows, his hair curling in his eyes, pretended he didn’t feel the thrill of the gaze thrum through all of him, make him feel like stardust and sunshine running through his skin, like he was precious. 

He gripped the chair tighter and reminded himself to get a fucking _grip_.

When Armie asked if he had any ideas, Timmy pulled out the small portfolio he’d brought with him, dragging out photos of past paintings and watercolors, showed him some of the work he’d done just with charcoal and paper, explained the difference between the atmosphere of each, the feel they might exude, how they may or may not work for what Armie wanted. In return, Armie pulled out photos of his office, showed him the areas they were thinking of for new artwork, and Timmy just stared at him.

“That’s seventy-five office spaces and twenty conference rooms,” he said slowly, staring at the numbers and photos in front of him. 

“Yes,” Armie said, simply.

“That’s…..a _huge_ job,” Timmy said, blinking at the sheer expanse of _room_ in front of him.

“You don’t have to do it,” Armie started, reaching for the papers, but Timmy intercepted him, pulling them closer to his side of the table, studying them silently, so Armie fell silent. Finally, Timmy looked up, meeting Armie’s eyes straight on. 

“It’s a huge job. And your company is fine with you contracting a _sub_ to do it?” he asked, watching Armie closely for his reaction. Armie frowned, huffing out a bitter laugh, and ran one hand through tidy blonde hair, ruffling it only slightly. 

“I don’t give a fuck what they’re okay with, honestly,” he said, dropping his hand to the table and tapping it lightly with his fingers. “I wasn’t even the one who brought up your name--my assistant did. A few board members agreed with her, and that was when I thought of contacting you about it. I don’t give a fuck if you’re a sub, Timmy,” (and oh, Timmy thought, hearing his name come from that mouth was never going to get old) “you’re the best right now. You’re making a name for yourself, and doing this project will only help that name grow.”

Timmy raised one eyebrow, scoffing. “So you’re saying I can’t make it on my own without your help?” he asked, a little offended, wishing the implication didn’t sting so much. “I’ve been doing fine on my own for three years, thanks.”

“No! No, that’s not what I meant at all,” Armie said, rubbing one hand over his forehead. “I just meant. This could be helpful, is all. If a company as big as ours commissions a _sub_ to do all the artwork for the eastern headquarters of our business? If we commission a sub and make it public? That’s going to be huge. That could _help_.” He looked so earnest, and it suddenly struck Timmy what he meant, and he felt instantly chagrined that he could have ever thought that Armie would have meant he was useless without the money of the Hammer Corporation.

He meant it could help subs, Timmy thought, looking at the papers again. Could help people see that they weren’t fucking helpless, that they didn’t need a dom to tell them what to do or inspire them or somehow be their fucking muses. If the Hammer Corporation hired him, an unbonded sub, to do this project, it would cause waves--and hopefully in a good way. It could open doors for other subs to be taken more seriously, could open doors for Timmy as an artist, could help him maybe not have to be completely self-reliant on whoever he got bonded to in five weeks. If this brought in projects and other commissions that he was already contracted to finish when the bonding took place, he’d have to be allowed to continue working. 

He looked back up, meeting Armie’s worried look. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, laughing a little. “This is really risky, you know. I mean, I know you’re mostly doing it because you love my paintings--” grinning when Armie laughed and relaxed “but the other reason you’re doing this is….a risk.”

Armie shrugged, smiling at him a little. “No more risky than a sub calling his sister a brat in correspondence with a new dom for the first time.”

Timmy laughed outright at that one, and Armie joined in a moment later, the two of them smiling at each other over the table, and Timmy felt his heart clutch, just a little, his breath catch for a moment, and he nodded. “I guess then you’ve got yourself an artist for hire, Armie Hammer.” Armie’s grin was almost blinding, and Timmy felt himself smiling in return without even fully realizing it, huffing out a laugh again. “I have to warn you, though, I’m not cheap,” he said, tone teasing.

“Nothing worth having ever is,” Armie replied, tone casual, but his eyes were dark on Timmy’s face, a gleam of intent behind the statement, and Timmy couldn’t even form a response to that, simply staring as Armie shifted to grab a folder out of his briefcase, his leg sliding between Timmy’s under the table for a moment, and Timmy heard himself let out a soft, strangled noise, swore he saw Armie smirk before he straightened up and laid the folder on the table between them.

“Shall we go over the contract?” Armie asked, pleasant, innocent, no inclination at all that anything had just happened.

Timmy was going to die before this project was over, that much he was sure of.


	2. Leave This Blue Neighborhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is a really big step, Armie. Even for you. This is going to get that kid a lot of attention, and it may not all be good. Are you ready to take responsibility for that?”
> 
> Armie was quiet for a moment, studying the view out the window, before speaking. “I am,” he said slowly, “and I think I want to take responsibility for a lot more than that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO MUCH for the comments and kudos so far, I love ALL OF THEM and I re-read them a lot because I love interacting with you guys and it's amazing.
> 
> This chapter is A LOT of backstory for Armie, so I hope you guys like it. It's a big glimpse into his life, how he got here, and why he's willing to risk a lot to commission a sub to do the work he wants Timmy to do. It's one of my favorite chapters, honestly, so I hope you guys like it!!

_Armie_

He’d never been a traditionalist. He’d been raised as one, or rather, his parents had _tried_ to raise him like one, but that hadn’t stuck. His mother was a traditional sub, pretty and poised and always standing by his father, gentle and loving with them, following every order, every rule put in place. His father, the traditional dominant, running the company, barking orders, raising him and his brother, Viktor, with a strict idea of who they were supposed to be, what they were supposed to be. He’d been, he could admit now, brainwashed a little by that lifestyle, looking down at children older than him who’d received sub bracelets, almost as though they were somehow lesser than him, and remembering it made him a little sick.

He’d taken the test at age twelve, as was required of every citizen, and when he’d tested dominant, his father had thrown a party. Had named him the heir to the company, stated that he was going to carry on the legacy of the family, was going to make something of himself. He was told he’d marry well, settle down, have a family, run the company. He was tutored in French and Italian, given tennis lessons, had an entire wing of the family manor to himself to run wild in, and was given a long leash.

When he was sixteen, Viktor had turned twelve, taken the test. He’d been so nervous, Armie remembered, had been excused from school for the day to take the test, and when Armie had come home from school that night he’d expected a party. What he’d found was his mother, crying silently in the parlor while his brother and father were nowhere to be found. He’d sat with his mother, consoling her the best he could, confused and unsure of what to do for the first time in his life. When his father returned, he demanded to know what had happened, why his mother was so upset, where Viktor was, _anything_ , and his father had responded that Viktor had tested as a sub, and was currently in a boarding school upstate for submissive children.

It was as though he’d been physically hit. He hadn’t been able to answer, had just watched as his father had told his mother to begin making dinner, as though he hadn’t just ripped one of her children from her, as though he hadn’t just dumped his little brother as though he was garbage because he was a sub.

That, looking back, was the moment everything changed. That was the moment he began questioning the life he knew, the training he’d been given as a dom, the traditionalist lifestyle his family had raised him into. The freedom he was given meant he could do research, had his own computer for homework and leisure, could look up the laws protecting subs, the non-traditional families, the legislature in the works for submissive’s rights. Could look into something other than the ridiculous bullshit he’d bought into his entire life until that evening, until he realized that being subs didn’t make someone _less_ , just….a different sort of person. It had happened nearly twenty years before, and he was still ashamed it took his brother being tested as a sub to shake him out of his bullshit mindset, to make him see subs as people, but everything he’d done since then he hoped somehow made up for it.

He didn’t fight back. He didn’t argue about Viktor being sent away, stayed the perfect obedient heir apparent, went to all his classes, participated in extracurriculars, and wrote a letter a week to his brother, mailed out by a friend from school, so he would know the entire family hadn’t abandoned him. He graduated from high school with honors, attended all the obligatory parties, and tamped down the rage that his brother hadn’t even been allowed to leave school for a weekend to see the graduation, to attend the parties. 

He lied to his parents, told them he and some buddies were going to Joshua Tree, and left for a week by himself instead, went to New York and walked around the communities there, the thriving, vibrant neighborhoods where things were so much different than back home. It was almost humorous, he remembered thinking, that the east coast, in this one sense, was more progressive than the west coast. New York was one of the states with the most progressive laws for submissive’s rights, and he had a future to plan, after all. He had to look out for his brother, and the only way to do that was to get to New York. 

He spent two years at Stanford, more freedom to write to Viktor on his own now, convincing his parents to let him live on campus, experience college life for real, get it out of his system while he was still a free man. His father had laughed heartily at it, as though it were some great joke, his son the playboy, and clapped him on the shoulder, told him to make sure if any subs got pregnant and claimed the baby was his to get a paternity test. He’d smiled through gritted teeth and pretended he was in on the joke. 

And then his father died. Heart attack, sudden, nothing anyone could do, his mother alone in the big manor house with him when it happened, and suddenly he was the head of his household, being the only dominant over legal age. He was signing papers putting him in charge of his mother and brother’s welfare, in charge of the company once he turned twenty-one, so many signatures and forms that it made his head ache. But the day after the funeral, he drove the three hundred miles to the boarding school where Viktor was being kept with a new bracelet with _his_ information in it, and pulled him from school. He hugged him for a good ten minutes before even letting Viktor get in the car, shaking almost from the relief of finally having him back. 

He’d cut off the bracelet with his father’s information and tossed it, securing the new, thinner one around Viktor’s wrist, telling him firmly that things were going to change. 

Armie had changed things. He’d applied for a transfer to Columbia, and been accepted. He’d found a high school in New York that catered to doms and subs, one with a good reputation of being fair--as fair as a mixed environment could be, that is--and he sat down, told his mother he was taking Viktor and moving, and that she could do whatever it was she wanted. She’d just stared at him for a moment, in widow’s black, before smiling sadly and touching his face, gently. 

_My darling boy,_ she’d said, voice whisper-fragile, worn out from crying, _you weren’t meant for this life. I always knew that. And I’m not meant for the one you’re going to. I’d like to stay here, please, in the house I built my life in. I’d like to keep to my routines. I don’t know anything else._ And even though it had been hard, to leave her behind, Armie had known he’d had to, for his sake, and Viktor’s. His mother hadn’t been allowed to fight back against his father for sending Viktor away, and here he was, taking him away again. When he expressed as much, his mother had shook her head. _It isn’t the same. You’re guaranteeing that he’ll be allowed to call, to write. One of the maids can show me how to use video chats, and we can do that. He’ll still be in my life, and you’ll come back and visit. It won’t be the same. You’re not your father, Armand. You were never going to be like him. I loved him, but he wasn’t…._ she’d paused, touched the thing, diamond-studded collar at her throat, continued a little shakily. _He wasn’t a good man, under it all. You are. You are both going to be good men._

With that blessing, he made sure everything was in place for his mother, her rights secured, her permissions granted, her allowance set up--and then he and Viktor had moved to New York.

He graduated from college, Viktor from high school, and Armie stayed on at Columbia to complete his master’s while Viktor attended NYU. They had an apartment between the two locations, and Armie watched his brother blossom, grow into a sarcastic, whip-smart human being, grow into himself, become more confident. The two attended protests, town hall meetings, and Armie began being involved in the company he’d inherited. Began looking over the bylaws and intricacies, eradicating old, outdated rules his father had clearly put into place and putting new ones in their stead. Most of the old board members resigned when they saw what he was up to, what he wanted to do, and the ones that didn’t were offered the choice of forced retirement with a very nice benefits package. They took it. 

Life had changed for them, for the better, when they moved to New York. They’d become better people, Armie thought, the versions of themselves they were supposed to be. And he would do everything he could to keep fighting the lifestyle he’d been brought up in, the ignorance of it all, the idea that people were lesser based on their orientation, something they couldn’t help. 

\------------

When he returned to the office after his meeting with Timmy, he found Viktor, lounging in his desk chair, shoes propped on Armie’s desk as he worked on his iPad. “I’m sorry,” Armie drawled, amused, “I must have the wrong office. Please accept my apologies.” Viktor looked up, shooting him a grin, and swiveled the chair a little.

“I always liked your windows better than mine,” he said, gesturing to them, and Armie snorted and crossed to the desk, perching on the edge of it.

“That’s the benefits of being the boss, little brother,” he said, knocking Vik’s feet with one hand. “One day you’ll know what it’s like.” Vik wrinkled his nose, shaking his head.

“No thanks. I’m perfectly happy in my little corner of the world fighting the man. You can keep the boss suit, it looks better on you.” Armie regarded his brother fondly, rolling his eyes a little. After undergrad, Viktor had gone on to law school, become one of less than a hundred subs in the country to pass the bar, to be allowed to practice law. He used the degree well, Armie thought, and it suited him. He was a vicious opponent in a courtroom, and once out of it, a devoted husband and father, his collar peeking out from under his suit shirt, wedding band glinting in the light. His wife, Sherry, was the head of advertising for Hammer Corporation’s east coast headquarters, and it was obvious how much the two of them adored each other from day one. Of all the doms, Armie thought, for his brother to end up with, he was glad it was Sherry.

“I’ll do that. You stop by to see Sher?” Viktor nodded, tucking the iPad into the briefcase at his feet, swinging his legs down. 

“That, and to look over those contracts you asked me about that I feel like you wanted me to forget about. The ones dealing with the artist you’re suddenly so fond of.” His tone made Armie raise one eyebrow, crossing his arms to deal with the sudden onset of discomfort. Viktor grinned, pointing one finger at him. “Oh, you _definitely_ wanted me to forget about him. You look constipated when you want someone to drop a subject.”

“Why did I bring you to New York?” Armie wondered out loud, staring at the ceiling. “Why did I think living close to you and having you marry someone I work with was a good idea?” Viktor laughed, hitting him in the arm gently.

“Because you love me. So, tell me. What’s going on with the artist?”

Armie sighed. “We’re commissioning him,” he started, and Viktor waved one hand, cutting him off.

“I’m sorry, _we_ who? The company? You and your current sub?”

“The company, yes.”

Viktor whistled, a low, surprised tone. “That’s impressive. I didn’t realize that your company was in the practice of making large, political moves such as commissioning submissive artists to do high-profile work for you, except, I’m sorry, I forgot, you _totally do things like that_.” Armie scowled at him, and Viktor shrugged. “Your views aren’t a secret, and you know it. It’s a good thing the majority of our consumers think that your progressive views are a positive thing. That, or they have a crush on you, it could go either way. This is a really big step, Armie. Even for you. This is going to get that kid a lot of attention, and it may not all be good. Are you ready to take responsibility for that?”

Armie was quiet for a moment, studying the view out the window, before speaking. “I am,” he said slowly, “and I think I want to take responsibility for a lot more than that.” He paused, then glanced at his brother, watched as his meaning caught on.

“Well, shit,” Vik said, laughing a little. “You’ve never wanted to _actually_ be bonded to someone before. And if it comes on the heels of this announcement….it could look bad, big brother.”

“I know,” Armie said, running one hand over his beard. “That’s why I need a lawyer.”

It was Viktor’s turn to be silent, then he just grinned and shook his head. “You’ve been causing me trouble your entire life,” he said, “I’m not sure why I’m surprised you’re still doing it. You’re thirty-three, I’d think you’d know better. But yeah, you’re going to need a lawyer. Pretty lucky that you know a good one.”

Armie smiled back at him, reaching to grab the papers he’d gone over with Timmy out of his bag and spreading them on the desk. “I know I am. Thanks for your help on this.”

Vik rolled his eyes, taking the folder nearest him. “Don’t thank me yet. Thank me when your plan works.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come visit me on [tumblr](https://sweetteatimmychalamet.tumblr.com/) and cry about cmbyn with me


	3. I Guess It's All Working Out, Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When asked who the company had hired, Hammer didn’t even pause before announcing they had commissioned twenty-four year old submissive Timothee Chalamet. Chalamet’s work has garnered him international praise, and his rise in the art world has happened in only a few short years, but this is the first time an unbonded submissive such as Chalamet has been commissioned for work of this stature. Hammer declined to answer any other questions regarding his decision to hire Chalamet for the work, only stating that Chalamet’s work “is among some of the best I’ve ever seen, and his vision fits with our new vision for the building, and the corporation”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: Timothee is approached by two doms who are intending on infringing on his rights, as well as calling him derogatory language. There is NOT a description of an assault, as one does NOT happen, but there is a lead-up to a potential assault. If this may be triggering to you, you can read up to the line "He stopped to shove the notebook in his bag and turned, tensing immediately." and then skip ahead to the next set of ------- where Armie's POV happens. The end notes will hold a description of what was missed. PLEASE BE SAFE, BABES <3
> 
> Thank you all, again, so much for the feedback. I adore you all so so much.

_Timothee_

He woke up to the blaring tone of “Bodak Yellow” shrilling through his room, and groaned, burying his face in his pillow. Flailing around for the phone on the nightstand, he swiped to answer and mumbled, “I really hate you. My alarm hasn’t even gone off yet.”

“Too bad, little bro!” Pauline’s voice came through the other end cheerfully. “Thought I’d congratulate you on your newest gig. I saw the story in the _Times_ art section, which, as you know, I follow religiously to keep up with your rising stardom.”

Timmy blinked against the darkness of his pillow for a few seconds, processing what she’d just said, before pushing to rest on his elbows, rubbing his eyes with one hand. “I’m sorry, what story in the _Times_ are you talking about?” That didn’t make sense, he hadn’t done any interviews recently or been contacted to do any, and he wasn’t doing any installations or new exhibits anytime soon, and the current exhibition had already been covered by the papers. “Are you uncaffeinated right now?”

Pauline tisked over the phone. “No, Timmy Tim, the new one. That just came out this morning.” 

“You are being decidedly unhelpful and cryptic on purpose, Pauline, and I hate you.”

“I know you do, Timmy. But seriously, I’m actually calling to congratulate you. And if you haven’t read the article yet and don’t know what I’m talking about, now would be a good time to get on the internet and google yourself, maybe.” She sounded almost gleeful, and Timmy groaned again, ran one hand through his hair, and kicked the covers off.

“If this is a weird prank,” he said, crossing to his desk and plopping in the chair, “I’m going to be so mad you woke me up early for it.” When she just laughed, he shook his head, setting the phone on the desk and turning the speakerphone on, waking up the computer and pulling up his browser. He had _The New York Times_ website bookmarked, and he clicked, half-listening to Pauline moving idly around on the other end of the line. When it loaded, he typed his own name in the search engine, and tapped his fingers against his throat a little nervously. There was a good chance this was a weird prank Pauline was pulling on him, but he was trying to figure out what else she could be talking about.

The page loaded, and he blinked a little at the newest article appearing only two hours before. He hovered over it for a moment, then clicked, blinking when a large photo of him appeared, side-by-side with a photo of none other than Armie Hammer. “What the _fuck_ ,” he breathed, leaning closer to the screen, and heard Pauline giggle a little.

“You should read it, it’s a pretty good piece. Short, but worth it,” she said, and he made an impatient shushing noise as his eyes scanned the screen.

_Up-and-Coming Submissive Artist Timothee Chalamet Commissioned for “Massive Art Overhaul” of Hammer Corporation._

_In a press statement released earlier this morning, Hammer Corporation CEO Armand Hammer announced that they were currently undergoing renovations at the New York headquarter building that houses the entirety of the offices for the East Coast branch of the company. He said construction was slated to begin within the next week, with more modern additions being added to “help bring the building, and the company, further into the 21st century”. He also added that they would be auctioning off the current artwork gracing the walls to charity, as they had commissioned a new artist to produce artwork with the newer look in mind. When asked who the company had hired, Hammer didn’t even pause before announcing they had commissioned twenty-four year old submissive Timothee Chalamet. Chalamet’s work has garnered him international praise, and his rise in the art world has happened in only a few short years, but this is the first time an unbonded submissive such as Chalamet has been commissioned for work of this stature. Hammer declined to answer any other questions regarding his decision to hire Chalamet for the work, only stating that Chalamet’s work “is among some of the best I’ve ever seen, and his vision fits with our new vision for the building, and the corporation”. The money raised from the auction of the old paintings will be going to several charity organizations, although their names are yet to be announced. More information on the auction will be posted next week._

Timmy stared. Then stared some more. Then re-read the article, feeling a little dizzy. A little dizzy and a little pleased, staring at the words on the screen, and then he finally registered Pauline was speaking to him. “I--yeah, um. Sorry, what?” he asked, scrolling back up and looking at the photos again. They’d chosen one of him from a gala for artists, and the one of Armie must have been from some charity event or red carpet event, because he looked perfectly put together, polite smile in place for the cameras, and even through the screen Timmy felt himself shiver at the intensity of that gaze.

“I _said_ ,” Pauline repeated, sounding amused, “is it true? That you’re doing the work for Hammer?”

“Yeah,” he said absently, rubbing at his throat, down over his collarbones and shoulder. He felt...tight, everywhere, his skin almost itching to be touched, toes curling against the cool wood of the floor of his room just to keep him grounded.

“Interesting,” she said, drawing out the first syllable of the word a little. “Well, you look good in the picture. Also interesting that you didn’t know he was out there, talking about you.”

“Well, he must have mom’s permission,” Timmy said, swiveling away from the computer and rubbing his eyes again. “I mean, she has to give consent to have new announcements about my work put out there. But she didn’t _say_ anything, and he wouldn’t just break the rules like that, especially since I’m unbonded….”

Pauline hummed a little, and Timmy frowned into the distance. “Maybe she did know and just thought he’d told you,” she suggested, voice tinny through the speakerphone. He shrugged before realizing she couldn’t see him, and turned the chair back around. 

“Yeah, maybe. Um, I’m gonna go, I’m awake now, so I might as well get ready for things. Thanks for the heads-up about this.”

“What are big sisters for? I love you, Timmy. You’re doing amazing, sweetie!” And before he could come up with a retort she’d hung up, and he was left scoffing into empty air. He looked at the article again, touching the screen gently with his fingers. Armie had released a statement about this. Had a whole press conference for it. Timothee wasn’t sure why, but that alone made warmth spread through him, the idea that Armie actually thought of him outside of work-related parameters, outside of the brief moments that they spent texting or meeting at the coffee shop. Thought about him enough to tell other people he liked his work. To admit he was being hired for a huge job. He bookmarked the article, then pushed up to grab a shirt before heading downstairs, stopping on the way at the calendar by his door, grabbing the red Sharpie and putting another X through the date. 

He sighed, flipping forward one month to his birthday, circled in red. Four weeks, now. Four weeks and a stack of correspondences he didn’t want to go through and a mother who didn’t want to force him into an arrangement he didn’t want but knew that if he didn’t choose, the state would. He needed to do something about it, but he didn’t even want to think about it. He wanted to focus on the photos Armie had sent him of the office spaces, the new color swatches for the walls, the ideas he’d had based on other works of Timmy’s he had liked. That was what he wanted to focus on--the art, the feeling of being able to immerse himself in it. He needed to focus on this job, needed to prove he could do it, for more than one reason. He needed to prove to the world that unbonded subs didn’t need to be attached to anyone in order to make decisions, have lives, and he needed it so that whoever he ended up bonded to wouldn’t be able to take this away from him.

It was a depressing fucking thought, and he tossed the Sharpie down harder than he needed to, slamming his door behind him.

\------------

Later that day, he was still a little fucking depressed, but felt overall more confident about his situation. He’d had a meeting with some of the architects on the new job, just wanting to find out more about the dimensions of the rooms they were changing around, the information about how, exactly, things were going to change. He’d thought about doing murals actually on the walls of the new conference rooms, but he needed to know dimensions to do that, and while a couple of the guys were snotty to him at first, once the contractor showed up, they backed off, showed him some respect. It made his skin crawl to still think about the way one of them had looked at him, looked at his naked throat like he was just fucking property to claim, and he rubbed at the skin as though that would make the feeling go away.

He hadn’t been able to see Armie, though, since he was in meetings all morning, and besides, he hadn’t really wanted to bother him. His mother had told him that morning that, yes, Armie had contacted her about releasing the information and she’d said it was fine, and Armie had said he would tell Timmy himself. When Timmy had frowned at that, she’d run her hand through his hair and over his shoulders soothingly, told him maybe he’d just forgotten, and Timmy knew he should drop it. Armie was busy, important--and even though there were definite sparks there, he didn’t owe Timmy anything, he wasn’t Timmy’s dom or even his equal, for all that he treated Timmy like one. He was still a dom in charge of a major company, and Timmy was still just an unbonded sub, needing everyone else to make decisions for him.

Irritated, he stepped out into the lobby of Hammer Corporation, head down and focused on the notebook he was scribbling ideas in: images, themes, concepts. Emotions he’d picked up from various rooms and offices and people he’d talked to. He pushed out the doors, turning towards the subway stop closest to him, and only after a few steps did he feel slightly uncomfortable. He stopped to shove the notebook in his bag and turned, tensing immediately.

Two of the doms from the construction crew were standing a few feet away from him, near the side of the building, smoking. Smoking and looking at him, watching him like hawks. He was close enough to the doors that he could have gone back in, pretended he’d forgotten something, called Pauline to come pick him up, and he had just turned to do so, backtrack, when one of the doms stepped forwards, dropping his cigarette butt and crushing it under his heel.

“Come here, sub,” he said, voice grating, lower than Timmy was used to hearing someone speak to him, and he shuddered, gripping his bag tighter, and stayed where he was, eyes locked on the man. 

“I have direct orders from my dominant to not obey any orders other than those issued by her,” he said, proud that his voice wasn’t shaking, even though he felt as though he was about to shake apart. “You can check my permissions, if you’d like.” He held out the braceleted arm, turning his wrist up so the microchip winked at them, fist clenched so his arm didn’t shake.

“Not the only thing of yours I want to check out,” the second man said, taking a few steps forward, and Timmy had to force himself not to move, not to back up out of fear, not to get driven into--how fucking cliche--the alleyway behind him. “Walking around all day like a fucking tease, asking us questions, getting in our space. We all know you’re unbonded, know that subs are just needy little sluts who use any excuse to get close to doms.”

He felt himself start to shake, clenched his teeth so hard he heard his jaw crack, standing still and stiff as a board, arm still extended. He had rights, he knew that, they couldn’t touch him without permission, but the one was still advancing and the other was moving towards his other side, gaze predatory, and god, why had he been so stupid, why hadn’t he just called Pauline to come get him, why had he needed to be independent today of all fucking days?

“Don’t _touch_ me,” he said, voice harsh, retracting his arm to grip his bag tighter. He’d swing it at them if he had to, he thought, he’d taken self-defense classes at his school, the standard ones they taught subs, and he’d practiced every day until the movements were second nature, he could do this, it would be okay--and then the first dom laughed, rubbing one hand over his chin.

“I think the little sub needs a lesson in manners,” he said, and was reaching out to grab Timmy, and Timmy tensed, shifting his weight to swing the bag at them as hard as he could, air rushing in his ears--

“ _Timothee,_ ” his name came, a loud, authoritative slap against the rushing in his ears, and the doms stopped, turned. He knew that voice, he thought, feeling himself begin to shake visibly now as the doms stepped back, faces changing from predatory to fearful, and when Armie strode out of the building towards them, the breath he let out in relief felt more like a sob.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Armie said to the doms, angrier than Timmy had ever heard him sound, one hand moving to grip Timmy’s upper arm, draw him back against Armie’s chest, and he could feel the tremors running through him in the grip, and he turned and pressed his face into Armie’s neck, squeezing his eyes closed. “I have your personnel information on file, your faces on camera, and three witnesses to the harassment you just perpetrated. I expect you’ll be hearing from the police shortly, gentlemen.” With that, he wrapped one arm around Timmy’s waist and steered him back into the building, Timmy’s feet just moving automatically, one hand clinging to Armie’s suit lapel, fine shakes still coursing through him.

He felt far away, floating, everything a rushing, shimmering blur of movement and noises and soft voices, and when he blinked and looked up they were in an office, and he…..he couldn’t remember how they’d gotten there, but Armie’s arm was still around him, and he could vaguely make out the sound of his voice although he couldn’t really make out the words. Armie was leading him to….a couch, he realized, and he settled on it with shaky legs, blinking at Armie as he sat across from him, looking enraged and concerned and Timmy let out the smallest sound, almost unaware he was doing it, and Armie reached forwards gently, slowly, before cupping one of Timmy’s cheeks in his hand. Timmy felt himself relax a little, the smallest fraction, tipping his head into the hand and closing his eyes, the rushing in his ears decreasing slightly. He heard Armie speak, then speak again, then finally made out his name. _Timothee._ It sounded urgent, so he opened his eyes, blinked through blurred vision at Armie, who looked more concerned now than anything. He saw Armie turn to speak to someone behind him, then just closed his eyes again, focusing on the feel of Armie’s palm against him cheek, the heat of his fingertips just against his hairline, the steady presence of him.

\------------

_Armie_

_Fuck_ , he thought, guiding Timothee inside, to the elevator, snapping out instructions at the doorman to save that footage, call the police, notify them what had happened, keep the witnesses close. _Fuck shit fucking goddamn fucking hell,_ he repeated in his head, keeping Timothee pressed close, noting the shakes and trembles and the wordless way he was mouthing something to himself, probably unaware he was doing it. Armie stepped off the elevator, shaking his head when his assistant stood, guiding Timothee into the office and over to the couch, settling him down gently before sitting in front of him. He didn’t look good, and Armie was worried he was going to go into a sub drop, and he needed to do anything he could to prevent that. 

“Hey, kid,” he said softly, pausing for a moment when Timmy’s eyes, soft and unfocused, stayed on the couch cushions in front of him, and he mentally swore a blue streak again. “Timmy, hey. Can you look at me?” he reached forwards, cupping one of Timmy’s cheeks gently, hoping the contact might help, but instead the other man just swayed forwards, eyes closing, full weight leaning on Armie’s side, in his hand. Fuck. “Timothee,” he said, a sharp, direct order, pulling out the influential voice he rarely used, if ever, with subs who weren’t his--it wasn’t right, taking advantage of them by using his influence as a dom, but sometimes, to snap a sub out of something….sometimes it was needed. 

Those gorgeous green eyes fluttered open slowly, blurred and unfocused, pupils blown. “Fuck,” Armie breathed, turning to call out of the office to his secretary. “Alice! Please call Mr. Chalamet’s dominant.” When he turned back, Timmy had already closed his eyes again, breathing slowing but Armie could still feel the small tremors running through him. He kept his hand where it was, free hand coming to rest gently on Timmy’s shoulder, thumb rubbing in small circles over his collarbone, keeping points of contact so he didn’t drop completely, staying silent so he didn’t startle him. When Alice came to the door, Armie looked over.

“She’s in New Jersey, in meetings,” Alice said softly. “She gave me verbal permission, which I recorded, to have you do whatever’s needed to make sure he stays stable and safe.” Armie nodded, and she backed out of the room, closing the door. He thought for a moment, hands still on Timmy’s skin, before shifting.

“Hey, kid,” he said softly, moving one hand to rest at the back of Timmy’s head, fingers scratching idly at his scalp. “I need you to open your eyes for me.” It took a few seconds, but Timmy’s eyes opened, dazed, taking a few blinks to focus on Armie, and he smiled encouragingly. “Good, that’s good,” he said, voice soothing, and the way Timmy sighed, leaned into him, told him that was the right route to go. Keep praising, then, he thought, and keep contact. “I need you to do something for me, okay? I just need you to keep your eyes open for another minute, and stay right here. Can you do that?” Timmy frowned for a moment, then nodded, slowly, the movement sluggish. Armie squeezed the hand on his shoulder. “Good boy.” When Timmy inhaled sharply at that one, Armie had to take a second to breathe, for himself, before pushing up off the couch.

At the startled, broken noise Timmy made, he turned back immediately, one hand resting in his hair. “I will be right back, I promise. You’ll be able to see me, I’m not even leaving the room.” Timmy nodded again, teeth digging into his lower lip, and Armie stepped away, crossing to the mini-fridge to get water before taking a kneeling cushion from the corner of the room. He settled back on the couch, kneeling cushion at his feet, and set the bottle of water on the arm of the couch. “There, see. Not so hard, and you did very well, staying just where I told you to,” he kept his voice low, soothing, one hand rubbing over Timmy’s knee, the other detangling his arms from the strap of the bag over his shoulder, taking it off the rest it on the ground next to him. “Can you come down here, kid? Kneel, here?” He felt completely out of his depth--he’d never done this with someone else’s sub, not to mention someone else’s sub he was _interested in_ , but it was his responsibility to make sure Timmy got through this safely, and he was going to fucking do it.

When Timmy slid bonelessly onto the floor, Armie caught him with one arm around his chest, helping him land on the cushion, arranging him so he was kneeling, head resting against Armie’s thigh, and he threaded his fingers through Timmy’s hair, tugging just a little, smiling when he got fluttered eyelashes in response. “There you are, good boy,” he said, and Timmy hummed a little, nuzzled his leg. Armie had to literally will his dick to not take an interest in those proceedings, because now was _not the time_. “Okay, Timmy, you just stay down there for right now, okay? I’m going to be right here. I’m not leaving until you feel better.” Timmy hummed again and nodded, and Armie nodded to himself, letting out a breath.

When he’d walked his client to the doors and seen….seen Timmy cornered, the doms who had been bothering him earlier in the day advancing on him, he’d literally seen red. He’d been told Timmy was in the building, that he was meeting with some of the workers, and had been asked to be kept apprised of how they treated him. He’d already been planning on having words with some of them, but when he saw those two advancing on him like they had any _right_.....he’d just snapped. There were laws in place protecting subs from unwanted advances from doms, but subs were usually so scared of doms taking retribution that they didn’t report anything, or did and then ended up trashed in a court of public opinion. Laws changing didn’t mean people’s minds changed as easily, but Armie had always made it known that those who couldn’t treat subs like real people weren’t welcome in his building.

And he’d walked by, and seen that, and done the only thing he could think to do: protect him. Take care of him. Just the fact that he’d had the instinct to _keep_ taking care of him, instead of passing him off to the on-site counselor, a dom specially trained to help subs during the workday in case they felt shaky, said something about the boy currently kneeling at his feet.

He’d wanted to punch them, both of them, but seeing how startled Timmy looked, how terrified and defenseless, had pushed the desire to cause physical harm to the back. He’d needed to get Timmy out of there, needed to get him somewhere quiet, find his dom, and get him taken care of. Since his dom wasn’t available, he’d do it himself. And it felt….weirdly right. Armie hadn’t had a sub experience a drop in nearly a decade, but most of it was just instinctual responses. He’d always thought things like that were bullshit until he found them happening--the fact that he knew what to do to keep Timmy from falling apart, the seemingly out of the blue desire to protect him, keep him safe--instinct was kicking in, and the fact that his gut only seemed to agree with his head made him sure this was the right path to be down.

He kept his hand in Timmy’s hair, stroking idly, speaking to him in low, soothing tones, nonsense mostly about the meetings he’d been in, the awful ties one of his co-workers had started wearing on a dare. After ten minutes, he uncapped the bottle of water, holding it to Timmy’s mouth and coaxing him to take a few sips, focusing on anything but the way his throat worked when he swallowed, the pale skin marred by a few small moles that seemed to lead a direct path to his mouth.

He kept his hand in Timmy’s hair until he felt him stirring, shifting in a way that was more restless than anything, and he let his hand drift to rub into Timmy’s back. “Hey there,” he said softly. “You with me?”

There was a pause, and then Timmy shrugged, tipping his head to look up at Armie through his curls. Armie studied him, ignoring the literal clutch in his chest at how Timmy looked at his feet, and smiled a little. “Your eyes look better. You want to stay down there a while longer?” Another pause, then another nod, and Timmy shifted, hooking one arm around Armie’s leg to steady himself, fingers resting lightly on his ankle. “Okay,” Armie said, laughing a little, hand back in Timmy’s hair. “That’s okay. You’re doing really well. You can stay there as long as you’d like.”

In the following silence, he wondered just how fucked he was if sitting like this was something he wanted all the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you skipped the scene, essentially what happens is two doms approach Timmy and allude that they're going to show him what a real dom is like. Armie sees this happening and intervenes, telling them he has them on tape harassing a sub and is going to contact the authorities. He then takes Timmy to his office.
> 
> as always, there is fandom love on [ my tumblr!](https://sweetteatimmychalamet.tumblr.com)


	4. I Drown In Your Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What had been a panicked blur of emotion, a rush of adrenaline and panic, had soothed the moment Armie had touched him, put him on his knees, threaded his fingers through Timothee’s hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR BEING SO PATIENT!!! I'm sorry this update is so late (even though there was the tease of the alternate scene in part three), I had a crazy week with work and real life things, but here we go! This one is very much a tease, so please don't hate me too much ;) As always, thank you so so much for your comments, I love each and every one of them and appreciate you all so much <3

_Timothee_

He was vaguely aware of time passing, vaguely aware of the hum of the heating unit humming to life behind him, vaguely aware of the press of the cushion against his knees, the feel of Armie’s suit fabric under his cheek, beneath his fingers where he had one arm curled around his leg. Could almost make out his own distinct thoughts and emotions again, but everything was still floating, far away, almost out of reach. What had been a panicked blur of emotion, a rush of adrenaline and panic, had soothed the moment Armie had touched him, put him on his knees, threaded his fingers through Timothee’s hair. He had been able to make out his voice, the rumbling, soothing sound of it, through the rushing in his ears, although the words hadn’t been clear until a few minutes before. He was still in subspace, still in that floating, free-fall existence of vulnerability, unable to really form any thoughts aside from: _here. Safe. Armie._ He knew Armie had brought him inside, that much he was aware of--it was warm, there had been an elevator.

He shifted idly, rubbing his cheek against Armie’s leg, heard him murmur something above him in acknowledgement, those clever fingers in his hair tugging just a little at the ends of his curls, and he purred a little in the back of his throat, eyes closing again. He was safe here. He was coming back, he was becoming more aware, but he was safe here. And he would be safe when he was done floating, when he was back in his own presence, back in himself. Armie was there, was keeping him safe, was keeping him grounded. 

When he was ready to come back, he knew he’d be okay, because Armie was there. Armie had taken care of him, hadn’t let him stay a mess, had known what he needed and done it, and Timmy shifted again, mouthing an absent kiss at the linen-clad knee below his mouth, and he felt Armie’s laugh reverberate through his whole body, Armie’s hand sliding down to cup the back of his neck, and he tipped his head back into the hand, blinking unfocused eyes up at him, licking over his lower lip without realizing it, teeth catching it, and he watched Armie’s throat work as he swallowed, felt his hand tighten on Timmy’s neck, and felt himself shiver, those fingers stroking lightly over the hair at the nape of his neck.

Armie’s hand slid back up to cup his cheek, one thumb brushing over his cheekbone, fingers wrapped strong and firm around Timmy’s jaw. His eyes were dark, looked more like storm-laden oceans than the clear skies Timmy usually saw in them, and he wondered briefly if he was the cause. Armie shook Timmy’s head gently with his hand, and Timmy blinked, frowned a little, focused harder as Armie repeated himself. “You back with me yet, baby?” He let out a small, breathy moan at that, the pet name, _baby_ rolling off Armie’s tongue and directed at _him_ , fingers sure and tight around his jaw and if Armie just adjusted his hand down a few inches, he would be braceleting Timmy’s throat with his fingers, so reminiscent of the collar he’d never worn but ached to in this moment, and he blinked a few times before shaking his head, then twisted his mouth to one side and shrugged a little.

He could form thoughts, but he wasn’t quite _there_ yet. “Okay. You stay there, let me know when you’re ready. I’ve got you,” Armie said, voice steady, quiet, those storm-eyes locked on Timmy’s. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Timmy knew he meant for right now, but he wished he meant for longer. Wished he meant he wasn’t ever going anywhere. But he nodded, because the words weren’t there yet, his throat was still a little tight, his mind still a little too disconnected from the rest of him to make proper sense, and he shifted, settling more to sit properly on the cushion, fingers slipping beneath the pants leg he was hooked around to stroke lightly at the skin there, between the gap of Armie’s sock and his pants leg.

This time, he felt Armie shiver into his touch, and Timmy hid his smile against Armie’s leg.


	5. And It Drives Me Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Armie hadn’t been there, things would have been a lot worse, he knew. So, the least he could do was thank the man. And continue to hope that he didn’t sound like an idiot. But even if he did sound like an idiot, who was going to hold that against him? He’d just come out of a subdrop, and everyone knew that those weren’t exactly known for making people coherent. He’d never had one that bad before, either, so it was doubly good that Armie had been there, had known what to do, had been patient with him, soothing. Had known to get him on his knees and keep in contact with him and keep talking to him….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are finally getting interesting, folks ;) Thank you again, SO MUCH, for all of your feedback and support so far on this fic, I appreciate all of you so so much and love everything about every comment <3

_From: tchalamet@gmail.com_  
To: armandhammer@hammercorp.org  
Subject: Thanks 

_Hey Armie,_

_Just wanted to say thank you, again, for everything the other day. I know I was still mostly out of it once Pauline got there, so I wasn’t really able to say very much before I left, but I wanted you to know I seriously appreciate everything you did for me. Not just helping me through the drop, but yelling at those guys. You didn’t have to do that, you could have just called me over or come over and dragged me away or something, but instead you basically made sure they’re going to be reported for harassment, so….thanks. Doms don’t usually do that type of thing. And I’m sorry I keep lumping you in with them--them being, you know, other doms. I don’t really mean to, honest, it just….sort of happens. I know you’re not really the same as them, at the core of it all, but I also know there are similarities. Just like I’m sure I’m not like ALL subs you know, but there are similarities. God, I don’t know if this makes any sense. My brain is still kind of fucked. Anyways, I just wanted to say thanks. I’ll have those concept sketches in by the end of the week._

_Timmy_

\------------

_Timothee_

He’d debated over sending the email or not, but in the end, had hit send. He’d been taken home by Pauline once his mom had been able to get in touch with her, and he’d still been a little fuzzy, mostly non-verbal, leaning heavily into touches as Pauline helped him into and out of the car, up the stairs to his room, and helped him into sleep pants and a shirt. The fact that he hadn’t even been able to muster up the energy to tell her to go away, that he could get dressed himself, told him that he’d been further gone than he’d realized, and he’d just nuzzled her shoulder affectionately once she’d been done helping him, making her laugh a little and pet through his hair, slim fingers getting caught in curls tangled together from Armie’s earlier administrations.

“Can you lay down now, baby brother?” she’d asked, and he’d nodded, managing to wiggle under the covers, eyes closing as she’d sat next to him, keeping one hand soothingly between his shoulder blades until he’d fallen asleep.

When he’d woken up, it was with a dry throat and pounding headache, his mouth feeling as though someone had stuffed it with cotton, and he had blinked bleary eyes at the bedside table and the bottle of water on it, the aspirin next to it, the tiny bowl of grapes all accompanied by a note in Pauline’s looping handwriting declaring, “Eat me! Drink me!” He’d had to laugh at it, and had swallowed down the aspirin and half the bottle without taking a breath before obeying the second half of the note and eating the grapes, feeling slightly more leveled out. 

He’d written the email before really waking up, before really coming back to himself, and he’d hit send before he’d really thought about it, ambling off to the shower afterwards.

And now, here he was, bracing himself against the tile as scalding hot water pounded down against his back, rolling his shoulders to ease the lingering tension, and running the words of the email back through his brain, trying to see if any of what he’d said sounded super embarrassing or stupid. He didn’t think so--he was expressing gratitude for Armie taking care of him. Even though they weren’t bonded, he was allowed to do that. It was expected, even, for subs to thank doms who may have helped them through rough spots, and honestly, if Armie hadn’t been there--he shivered a little, turning to stand with his head tipped into the spray, water washing over his face, catching in his collarbone. If Armie hadn’t been there, things would have been a lot worse, he knew.

So, the least he could do was thank the man. And continue to hope that he didn’t sound like an idiot. But even if he did sound like an idiot, who was going to hold that against him? He’d just come out of a subdrop, and everyone knew that those weren’t exactly known for making people coherent. He’d never had one that bad before, either, so it was doubly good that Armie had been there, had known what to do, had been patient with him, soothing. Had known to get him on his knees and keep in contact with him and keep talking to him….

Absently, Timmy ran one hand down his stomach, the other wiping water off his face as he shifted again. He hadn’t really ever been in a situation where someone had _had_ to stay with him that long, where he hadn’t been able to form words, and underneath the panic of going into a drop and the scene with the doms had been the panic that he couldn’t _talk_ , that he couldn’t _focus_ , but Armie hadn’t been worried, hadn’t been mad. Had just sat there and talked to him, smiled at him fondly and tugged his hair between his fingers, brushed those fingers over Timmy’s jaw, barely touching his mouth as he’d lifted the water he’d kept next to him so Timmy could take small sips of it.

He’d brushed water off his lower lip, Timmy remembered suddenly, his own fingers moving to touch the offending area. He’d choked at one point on the water and Armie had sworn, quietly, set the bottle down and wiped water off his lower lips, his chin, with his fingertips, said softly _I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to go that fast, you okay?_ and Timmy had just been able to nod and lean into that hand, tongue darting out to chase the sensation of Armie touching him.

His hand drifted lower over his stomach, just barely brushing against his cock, which was definitely taking an interest in the proceedings. He sighed a little, resting his forehead against the tile, cool despite the steam swirling around him, wet hair curling against the nape of his neck, and he huffed out a laugh. He shouldn’t be doing this. He should _so_ not be doing this. Armie was his friend, for god’s sake, hadn’t taken advantage of him when he was going through a fucking crisis, but he just….he couldn’t help that he was attracted to him. Couldn’t help that every time Armie smiled at him he got weak-kneed, wanted to curl against him and mouth at his collarbones, feel Armie’s hands spread over the small of his back, holding him in place, holding him down, feel his beard against the shell of his ear as he told him again he was being a _good boy_.

And fuck this, Timmy thought, breathing ragged, wrapping one hand around himself and swiping his thumb over the head of his cock, biting his lower lip to avoid making noise, but tiny, needy whimpers escaped him anyways, the image of Armie doing this to him instead encompassing his thoughts, the idea of Armie laying him out on a bed and holding him down with those _hands_ and teasing him until he couldn’t think straight, calling him baby in that gentle, teasing tone of voice, Armie’s hand replacing his own, wrapping around him with tight, relentless strokes that would have Timmy arching up and _begging_ him to come--

His orgasm ripped through him, more suddenly than he expected, and he realized as he shuddered through it he was gasping out Armie’s name over and over. Flushed, sweating from the steam of the shower, he rinsed off his hand, watched as the water and semen swirled down the drain, rubbed his free hand over his face, fumbling to turn the water temperature down with the other. Fuck. He was fucked. He needed to….to get over this. To get over this and. Find someone else, because Armie was just being nice, was just taking care of him, the way he would have with any other sub, with any other friend.

Realizing he was shaking a little, and thirsty again, Timmy just shut the water off completely, fumbling with the shower curtain and wincing against the billow of steam that escaped when it he finally pulled it open, grabbing his towel and rubbing it over his hair before stepping out, toweling off and studying his blurred reflection in the mirror, trying to focus on taking deep breaths so he didn’t do something stupid like pass out again. He knew better than to expose himself to extreme temperatures or _other_ activities after subdrop, but he just….hadn’t been able to help himself. 

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he combed his hair out of his face with his fingers and headed out of the bathroom to his room, wet curls dripping on his shoulders, helping to cool him down as much as the chilly air of the attic suite. He’d just get dressed, and drink the rest of the water Pauline brought him, and then go downstairs and check in with his mom, with Pauline. Resist checking his email obsessively for the rest of the night, checking it only once before bed, like an adult. These were all things he could do.

At the end of the short hall, he turned into his room, shivering slightly now that he’d escaped the heat of the bathroom, and stopped, staring.

Because he was clothed in a towel, and standing in front of one of his easels, studying a half-finished piece, still in his suit with his jacket draped over one arm, was Armie Hammer. 

Timmy must have made some small noise, felt his knees lock together, aching a little from his earlier ministrations on the floor, but the instinct to just _submit_ when he saw Armie was so strong he _had_ to lock his legs or else risk ending up on the floor. Armie turned towards the sound, the polite smile on his face faltering slightly when he took in Timmy’s appearance, one hand clenching into a fist at his side as he shifted to move forwards, and the look on his face couldn’t be described as anything other, Timmy thought, than _hungry_.

“I--um. Hi?” he tried, one hand moving to grip the towel around his waist, aware, suddenly, of every drop of water falling from his hair onto his shoulders, down his chest, aware of how fucking unforgiving the towel was, of the valiant effort his cock was making in getting interested in Armie standing in front of him, fully clothed, while he stood there, vulnerable, naked under the flimsy cloth.

Armie didn’t respond for a moment, eyes locked on Timmy’s chest, and he felt himself turning red as Armie dragged his eyes up to meet his, finally, the deep, stormy oceans Timmy remembered from earlier, and oh. 

_Oh._

Biting his lower lip, Timmy shifted minutely, the towel slipping just a little lower, and he watched Armie’s gaze lock onto it, and felt almost giddy, a breathless little laugh escaping him unbidden. Armie’s eyes snapped back up at that, and this time he looked fond, snorting out a laugh and rolling his eyes as he took a step forwards.

“You really are a brat, Timothee,” he said, and Timmy felt himself shudder, toes curling against the hardwood floor as he tried not to fidget too much, tried not to let just how much he was enjoying this become obvious.

“I know,” he said instead, breathless, and Armie took another step forwards, then another, watching him carefully, Timmy thought, so carefully, moving so slowly as though Timmy were an animal he might scare off if he moved too quickly. And, given what he’d been through that day, Timmy thought maybe that analogy wasn’t too far off. “You like it, though.”

Armie laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls, Timmy thought, and the ceiling, reverberating around the room as though it was meant to be there, and he felt himself grinning in response.

“I do,” Armie conceded, finally coming to a stop in front of Timmy and raising one hand to gently wind a wet curl around one finger, tugging gently and causing Timmy’s eyelashes to flutter closed, making him sway into the touch, breath catching in his throat. “But you need some manners sometimes.” He tugged Timmy’s hair again and Timmy felt his head tip back, throat exposed, blinking open slightly blurred eyes to meet Armie’s. “I could help you with that, if you wanted,” Armie offered, voice quieter, deeper, and Timmy heard himself whimper. Armie smiled, then, slow and satisfied. “That’s what I thought you might say.” He let go of Timmy’s hair, trailed damp fingers across his cheek and over his lower lip, his hand coming to rest at the hollow of Timmy’s throat. “Are you with me?” he asked, and Timmy nodded, feeling Armie’s hand move with the motion.

“Yes,” he sighed.

“Good. I need you to get dressed. I need to talk to you and your mom about some things. Are you present enough to do that?” Timmy blinked, the movement feeling slow, and nodded again, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly.

“Yes,” he said again, bringing his free hand up to close his fingers around Armie’s wrist, squeezing gently. “I’m here. I--I can do that.”

“Good,” Armie said again, smiling down at him before stepping back, Timmy’s hand falling from his wrist. “I’ll be downstairs.” Timmy nodded mutely, adjusting the towel as Armie walked past him, and once he was gone, pressed his fingers over his lips, his throat, feeling the ghost of Armie’s hand on him. Then he dropped the towel and nearly sprinted to the dresser, yanking out clothes at random. His phone signaled, Armie’s ringtone, and he dropped his pants in favor of lunging for the phone, unlocking it to read the text:

_Don’t touch yourself before you come downstairs. I like knowing the effect I have on you._

Before he could even _comprehend_ that, another text came in.

_However, if that’s crossing a line, I apologize. But I think we’re on the same page, and I think you’ve figured out why I’m here._

Timmy fumbled over himself replying: **Not crossing a line. I think I know why. I won’t.**

The reply came less than five seconds later.

_That’s my good boy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come play on [tumblr](https://sweetteatimmychalamet.tumblr.com) with me!


	6. I've Never Ever Wanted To Be So Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When that merely garnered him nods, he realized Timmy was waiting for cues from his mother now, and she was waiting for _him_ to go over the reason he was here. Taking a breath, Armie pulled the papers out of his briefcase, setting them in front of him on the table. “I’d like to ask your permission to formally court your son,” he said, seeing no reason why he should beat around the bush, and watching Timmy’s face color again, red riding high on his cheekbones before he ducked his head, biting his lip and shaking his curls over his face, but Armie could still see the smile he was trying to suppress. To their credit, neither Nicole nor Pauline looked surprised--Pauline, in fact, looked almost smug, and Armie decided that yes, he liked her quite a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO KIDS HERE WE ARE!!!!! Listen, the comments I get on this fic are AMAZING AS HELL and I love them all so much and I love YOU ALL SO MUCH for reading this and commenting and interacting with me it's amazing and lovely and the feedback to this is so much more than I ever imagined so thank you thank you <3
> 
> This is the end of part two BUT NOT THE END OF THE STORY. I just like dragging things out ;)
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to nellipot for being an amazing human being and yelling at me over how much I'm hurting her over this story. Love yooouuuuu!!!!

_Armie_

Nicole had told him to go up. Pauline had said he was awake, most likely freshening up, and Nicole told him to go up, if he wanted. She’d also stood on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around Armie’s neck, thanked him profusely for helping her son. Pauline, standing a ways away making tea, had smiled and just reached over and punched him somewhat affectionately in the arm, and he’d averted his eyes from the knowing look in hers.

He’d felt like an intruder, but had gone up anyways, into the loft space they’d created for Timmy when he’d begun painting. He’d knocked, but there was no answer from the room within, so he’d entered, noting the wrinkled sheets and absence of a body, the closed bathroom door, and so he figured Timmy had at least woken up okay. He’d meant to wait in the hall, hadn’t meant to go inside, didn’t want to breach the one private place Timmy really _had_ , but there were paintings stacked inside, another half-finished on an easel that drew his eye, and he’d stepped inside before he knew it, studying the blending of colors on the canvas, the harsh edges and raised areas of paint that indicated Timmy had been in a hurry, maybe, or particularly emotional that day. Maybe just lost in thought and unaware of what his brush was doing. Armie reached out, brushing his fingers over the soft edges of the brushes spread out on the side-table next to the easel, scattered in cups on the windowsill behind it. He’d wondered, he had to admit, what it looked like, where Timmy worked, and he had to admit that the mixture of bedroom and workroom suited him.

He hadn’t expected Timmy to come back in like he had, though--he’d assumed he’d just been relieving himself, or maybe washing his face. But he’d entered the room, towel gripped around his hips, hair curling in tight, wet ringlets at the nape of his neck and just barely in his eyes, and Armie hadn’t been able to _breathe_ for a moment. They’d both stood, startled, and then he saw the intent in Timmy’s body shift, just slightly, and thought to himself, _oh, you little brat_ , all the while feeling foolishly pleased at Timmy’s reaction to him, at the slight smile playing at the corner of his mouth when he noticed Armie staring, the way he didn’t back away as Armie approached, tipped his head back and closed his eyes so prettily when Armie barely tugged on his hair, sighing into his touch. Feeling his throat expand as he swallowed when Armie wrapped one hand around it, watching that pale column of skin almost swallowed up by his hand--Timmy wasn’t small in stature, per sey, but he _was_ made up of slender limbs, delicate bones, pale, unmarked skin that Armie wanted to lay claim to. 

He’d been surprised that Timmy seemed to begin to drift so quickly, although he supposed maybe he shouldn’t have been, considering how emotional the day had been for him. A sub less than twenty-four hours out from subdrop was in danger of dropping again, or entering subspace more readily, and Timmy was proof of that. 

So he’d eased back, joked about manners, told him that he needed to talk to Timmy and his mom both. Had watched Timmy nod, and reply. Had walked out the door.

Had sent the texts before really thinking about it, but Timmy’s reply had made him smile, and he’d sent one back before he really thought about it. He knew he had no right to lay claim to Timmy (yet), but it felt _right_ \--the pet names, the casual orders to test waters. And Timmy hadn’t seemed to mind.

So he’d straightened his suit jacket and adjusted his pants discreetly before heading back downstairs, had told Nicole Timmy would be down in a minute, had sat at the table when she asked him to, accepted the offer of refreshments. Had tried not to focus overmuch on the documents burning a hole in his briefcase, how Timmy and his family might react to them.

\------------

When Timmy emerged downstairs mere minutes later, Armie smiled at him, appreciating the way Timmy grinned back, still flushed slightly, hair damp and still slowly dripping onto his shirt, leaving small dark patches against the grey sweatshirt he’d pulled on. He watched as Nicole and Pauline moved forwards, Nicole pulling him into a hug and Timmy hunching to meet her height, burying his face in her neck as one of her hands rested at the nape of his neck and the other rubbed soothingly over his back. He kissed her cheek as he pulled away, nodding in reply to her murmured question, before turning to Pauline and hugging her as well, and he saw the way they swayed into each other, the tight grip she held him in, thought about the way Nicole had just held onto him, and wondered if perhaps there was more happening here than they were letting on. 

But it wasn’t his place to question, so when Timmy ambled over to the table and sat, he just kept the smile in place. “You feeling better, then?” he asked, and Timmy nodded, reaching out to grab apple slices from the bowl on the table.

“Much better, yes. Thanks, again, seriously, I really apprec--” Armie cut him off with a wave of his hand, and Timmy looked a little sheepish.

“Don’t apologize. It was my pleasure, really. I don’t ever want you to be in a situation where you’d feel unsafe, or be stuck somewhere bad for your headspace.” Timmy nodded, biting into one apple slice and glancing over as Pauline and his mom joined them, Pauline bringing a little tray with cheese and crackers on it, pushing it mostly towards Timmy. Armie knew his energy would be down after a drop that intense, and it was amusing to watch him stick the apple slice between his teeth as he reached for cheese, spreading it on a cracker and swapping the apple out for the other, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes dart to Timmy’s fingers when he licked stray apple juice off them, glancing back up to see that he was being smiled at in a manner not entirely innocent.

 _Such_ a brat.

Pauline coughed into her hand, the sound suspiciously like a laugh, and Timmy just grinned over at her and she rolled her eyes, and Armie had the decency to look a little chastised, even though he was attempting to swallow his own smile. “Thank you,” he said, opting to just start, “for having me over. I know it was short notice, and especially because of what Timmy went through today, I know this may not have been the ideal time. But time, honestly, is one of the reasons I wanted to present this sooner rather than later.”

Nicole nodded, reached over to pat Timmy’s hand on the table, and he turned his hand over, squeezing her fingers briefly before letting go. “He’s a strong boy,” she said, reaching now to pat his cheek. “And he got through it because of you. We’re eternally grateful that you were there, and that you’re a witness to what happened. That you’re pressing charges.” She shifted her gaze, studying him straight on. “Not all doms would have done the same.”

“Then those other doms are idiots,” Armie said plainly, making Pauline snort out a laugh. “Subs have rights. They’re not lesser human beings just because they’re submissives. No one has the right to touch someone who doesn’t want to be, regardless of their alignment.” He saw Timmy flush and glance down at his napkin, smiling a little, and watched Nicole and Pauline regard him with something close to praise. “I’m only doing what everyone should do.”

When that merely garnered him nods, he realized Timmy was waiting for cues from his mother now, and she was waiting for _him_ to go over the reason he was here. Taking a breath, Armie pulled the papers out of his briefcase, setting them in front of him on the table. “I’d like to ask your permission to formally court your son,” he said, seeing no reason why he should beat around the bush, and watching Timmy’s face color again, red riding high on his cheekbones before he ducked his head, biting his lip and shaking his curls over his face, but Armie could still see the smile he was trying to suppress. To their credit, neither Nicole nor Pauline looked surprised--Pauline, in fact, looked almost smug, and Armie decided that yes, he liked her quite a bit. 

“You know he has to be bonded in four weeks, correct?” Nicole asked, voice pleasant, even though she looked amused. “And if you’re submitting official courtship papers, he will lose the right to pursue other suitors, which means that if you change your mind at the last minute, he _will_ be forced into an arrangement the government deems suitable for him.” Pleasant tone, yes, but there was a sharpness under it that Armie could appreciate, and he nodded.

“I know. I’m not planning on changing my mind.” Timmy looked up, then, his eyes meeting Armie’s and his grin escaping, and Armie winked at him before turning to look back at Nicole.

“That’s good, then. So you’re offering a formal courtship contract. What will people say, since he’s also contracted to work for your office? I won’t have my son’s name slandered in the press as though he’s some gold-digger, taking the commission for your offices just to get to you.”

“I’ve got that covered,” Armie started, taking out one of the documents and sliding it over for Nicole to inspect. “My brother, Viktor, he’s a lawyer, and he drew these up. This is a signed affidavit stating that I contacted Timothee before the idea of him ever doing the work for our offices came up, that I contacted him directly through you, as is protocol, and with the intent of getting to know him better. I have witness statements from the night I attended the gallery show included, signed and notarized, swearing to the fact that I spoke to them of whether or not I should contact him, should risk it since he was searching for suitors. This provides us with a timeline.” He drew more documents out, slid them over, watching Timmy press one hand over his mouth, sleeve encompassing his fingers, as he tried not to smile more. “Copies of the emails we exchanged, the text messages, during the initial meeting time frame, before I contacted him about the work for the company. It goes to laying down a history of us getting to know each other, not just me talking to him about his artwork or attempting to only find out about his work.”

He held his breath as Nicole looked things over, Pauline scooting over to look over her shoulder, darting a glance at Timmy to see him staring at the two women, teeth catching and releasing the edge of the sweatshirt sleeve against his mouth, his other hand rubbing absently over his throat. He did that, Armie knew, when he was nervous about something. He reached over, taking Timmy’s wrist gently in his hand, and squeezing. Timmy’s hand on his throat immediately stilled, and his eyes tracked over to meet Armie’s, a little wide, a little apprehensive. Armie squeezed again, smiled at him reassuringly, and after a moment Timmy smiled back, his shoulders relaxing a fraction, teeth stopping their assault on his sweatshirt.

Armie turned back to Nicole and Pauline to see Pauline grinning at him openly and Nicole rubbing one hand over her mouth to conceal a smile. It was no wonder, he thought, Timmy was so sarcastic about everything--look at his influences. But it made him smile, that his family had encouraged him to be himself, to be who he was despite his alignment, made him remember what he’d tried to teach Viktor--that he absolutely had the right to be who he was. It made him feel better, knowing Timmy’s family was the same way.

Nicole set the papers down, folding her hand over them. “I think this will do, in case anyone begins to think that anything salacious happened, or that he only took an interest in you once you hired him. It’s impressive, also. I admit, I hadn’t expected you to be quite this prepared.”

Armie shrugged, huffing out a laugh. “Like I said, Vik’s a lawyer, so I’m always over-prepared for everything. He insists on it, says my mouth gets me in more trouble than it needs to.” Timmy snorted, and Nicole shot him a look, fond and reprimanding at the same time. “I want to do this,” Armie said, before any of them could speak. “I really do. I think Timmy--fuck this,” he said, huffing again, this time in exasperation, turning to face Timmy. “Pretending you’re not here might be the tradition, but I’m not really big on those. I think you’re wonderful,” he said, noting the way Timmy’s eyes widened, his mouth opened and closed on a word before Armie continued, not giving him the chance to interrupt. “You’re sarcastic as hell and funny. You’re incredibly talented, incredibly passionate about what you do, and so fucking smart. I meant it when I wrote to you, that I wasn’t looking to push you into anything. And I’m not looking to do that now, either. Even if your mom says yes but you say no, I’m going to listen to _you_.” 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Pauline grin, saw Nicole nod a little at that, but kept his eyes on Timmy, who was just staring at him as though he couldn’t believe anything he was hearing. “I want to enter into a formal courtship with you, so we can see if this would work. Because I’m more interested in you than I’ve ever been, in anyone, sub or not. My other contracts were mostly for the convenience of the damn thing, but this isn’t about that. There’s something here, maybe, and I’m pretty sure you know it, too.” He paused for a moment, and Timmy nodded, finally, licking over his lower lip before worrying it with his teeth. “I just want to see if it will work--I hope it will work,” he said, finally reaching over and touching Timmy’s hand on the table, fingers just resting lightly on the back of it, watching Timmy look down at their hands. After a moment, Timmy turned his hand palm up, and carefully threaded his fingers through Armie’s.

Armie smiled so hard his face actually hurt. Timmy looked up at him, hair in his eyes and smiling a little bashfully, which only made Armie’s stomach flip on itself, made him want to reach out and brush his fingers over his mouth, tell Timmy he had nothing to look bashful about, nothing to look uncertain about, that he wanted this, had wanted it almost from the first moment, and finally Timmy nodded, and looked over at his mom.

“Yes,” he said, the word coming out little louder than a whisper, and he laughed a little and repeated, “yes,” louder, more sure of himself, and Armie squeezed their joined hands together, looking over at Nicole.

She looked pleased, he thought, and also a little smug, as though she’d known from the start this was where they were going to end up, here at this table, discussing Timmy’s future, his future that would hopefully be with Armie, his future that would end with him bonded to Armie, Armie’s to take care of, to nuzzle kisses into the hollow of his throat, to mark up with fingerprints and bite marks and collars, to watch as he lost himself in his work, to curl around at night….

Yes, Armie decided, he liked Timmy’s family a lot.

“Very well, then,” Nicole said, reaching over to cup Timmy’s cheek again. “He’s made up his mind, and that’s what’s important.” She smiled over at Armie. “I knew you were going to be good for him from the first day the two of you met. I’ll sign the courtship documents, and we can get them on file. Do you have a claiming bracelet?”

Armie nodded, a little disappointed that he had to let go of Timmy’s hand to reach into his briefcase to pull out a pen and also a long, slender box, which he handed over to Timmy, who eyed it and turned it over in his hands before looking up at him, eyes slightly narrowed.

“How many subs have you given this to before?” he asked, and Nicole said something, sharply, in French, that had his shoulders hunching, but he glared down at the box, fingers tight on it, and Armie felt a tug of remorse that his action would have caused that.

“None,” he said, reaching over to pry the box gently out of Timmy’s hands, opening the lid. “This one’s yours.” He watched as Timmy’s eyes moved over the bracelet, reading the words imprinted into the leather, watching as his eyes moved back to Armie’s, the green darker than normal, a forest instead of a meadow, and he lifted the leather out of the box, rubbing one thumb over it.

“It has my name on it,” Timmy said, and Armie nodded, not wanting to interrupt. “You’re awfully confident.” Nicole reprimanded him again, and Timmy fired back in rapid-fire French as well, and Armie reached over, put his hand on top of Timmy’s, drawing his attention back.

“I was hopeful,” he said. “I don’t think that’s quite the same thing. I was hoping you’d say yes, so I had it made in case you did. I wanted you to have something that was just yours, from the start, because this is different. I didn’t want you, for a moment, to wear something other people had.” Timmy studied him for a moment, then smiled, mouth twisting a little in something akin to an apology. Armie let out the breath he’d been holding. Timmy slid his hand out from under Armie’s, handing him the bracelet and turning his hand over, wrist up, offering it.

“I was mostly just fucking with you,” he said lightly, and Armie resisted the urge to pinch him under the table, instead rolling his eyes. “Put it on me?”

“God, you’re a brat,” Armie said, and Pauline laughed next to him as Timmy flushed, eyes dropping but not before Armie caught the arousal, and he filed that away for future use. He gently wrapped the leather around Timmy’s wrist, above his standard bracelet, fastening it and running his finger around the edge to make sure it wasn’t too tight, catching the quick flutter of Timmy’s pulse as he did so, the shiver that ran through his arm. Satisfied, Armie moved back in his chair, watching Timmy run his fingers over the bracelet, looking almost awed by it.

Nicole slid the papers over to him, and Armie took them, thanked her, and she shook her head.

“You don’t need to thank me. Just make him happy,” she said, standing to move from the table, Pauline following her lead. “That’s all I want from him. I’ll give you two a moment.”

Armie watched them leave the room, waited until he heard their footsteps recede completely, then turned to Timmy, who was still tracing the bracelet with one finger. “Come here,” he said, watching Timmy blink up at him, then begin to scoot his chair closer. “No,” Armie said, shaking his head, pointing at the space next to him on the floor, praying he wasn’t crossing a line too soon. “Come _here_.” He saw Timmy’s eyes widen, that appealing blush forming, and as he hesitated, cursed himself for even suggesting it, but just as he was about to say no, never mind, we can do this another way, Timmy pushed himself off the chair, stepping forwards before sliding gracefully to his knees at Armie’s side, hands folded in his lap, those forest eyes looking up at him solemnly. 

Armie reached out, pushed Timmy’s hair out of his face gently, laughed a little when Timmy turned his head, nuzzling Armie’s palm, and he let his hand rest gently on the curve of Timmy’s cheek, thumb just brushing the corner of his mouth. “Is this alright?” he asked, and Timmy nodded, eyes closing as he leaned into Armie’s touch. “Okay. We’re not doing more than this, right now, but I just….wanted to see,” he admitted, and Timmy nodded again, looking up at Armie.

“I did, too. It’s okay. This is okay,” he said, and Armie smiled down at him, thumb moving to drag across his lower lip, pulling Timmy’s mouth slightly open before releasing, and Timmy looked up at him a little dazed, tongue darting out to trace the path Armie had just traced. 

“We’ll have things to go over,” he said, shifting his hand to play through Timmy’s damp hair. “Important things. But I just wanted to see. I like you like this, next to me. I’ve never wanted anyone else to be like this the way I want you like this.” Timmy smiled at that, tipping his head back slightly, exposing his throat.

“I didn’t even know that being at someone’s feet was something I could physically want,” he admitted, “until you.” Armie actually _felt_ himself get hard at that, and he groaned a little, fisting Timmy’s hair loosely in his hand, hearing the small whimper escape before Timmy could stop it.

“You are _such_ a brat,” he said, and Timmy actually laughed, looking up at him, delighted. “And I know you do it on purpose, which makes you even more of a brat.”

“I like it when you call me a brat,” Timmy countered, hands in his lap, shifting his hips slightly. “That’s why I act like one.”

“What am I going to do with you?” Armie asked, amused, moving his hand down to rest at the nape of Timmy’s neck, and Timmy shrugged, eyes closing again.

“Whatever you’d like to.”

**Author's Note:**

> come and join me on [tumblr](https://sweetteatimmychalamet.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
